


Dulcissima

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [13]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Brothels, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Heart-to-Heart, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Iron Bull Swears, Love Confessions, M/M, May/December Relationship, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Sera/Dagna, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Period-Typical Racism, Poisoning, Post-Demands of the Qun, Prostitution, Relationship Advice, Rescue, Romantic Angst, Self-Doubt, Sera Being Sera, Sexual Tension, Suspicions, Wingman Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has already been quite a while since former magister Gereon Alexius was captured by the Inquisition and sentenced by its surprisingly compassionate leader to serve the rebel mages of Redcliffe. Barring the constant supervision by Leliana's spies, he is beginning to settle comfortably into his new role, and the wound from losing Felix does not cause as much agony as it used to. In a way, Skyhold is becoming a home for him - largely thanks to Inquisitor Lavellan, who is determined to help Alexius shake off the shadows of his past and look to the future. He and this optimistic little elf have already shared quite a few heart-to-heart conversations, warm embraces, and even an adventure or two. And to his own shock, Alexius is beginning to realize that he is seeing Lavellan as a little bit more than just a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He dreams of that wretched place again. The so-called pleasure house in a back alley of Minrathous' slums, where he met Dorian, all those years ago - during a simpler time when the source of his greatest guilt was almost cheating on his wife with a tattooed whore.  
  
The spirits of the Fade have certainly done a remarkable job, recreating the atmosphere of rank decay, glossed over with cheap glitter, which permeated the place from its littered, sticky floor to the cracked ceiling. He can, once again, see and feel the textures of the draperies, which, as he recalls, purported to be some sort of lavish brocade but in reality were nothing more than threadbare, unwashed cloth, stained with wine and many other, less savoury fluids. He can smell the heady smoke of the hookahs and the tangy, turpentine-like substance that many of the dancers and the serving maids in the crowd had oiled themselves with. He can even feel that shiver running up his spine again - curiosity blending with revulsion; a wish to get as far away from this place as possible battling against a reckless determination to remain and see this through. And he finds himself thinking the same thoughts, brought forth by the helpful spirits from the furthest recesses of his mind.  
  
Other men at the Magisterium have told him, time and again, that this is an excellent remedy for someone who is under a lot of pressure; and if that is not an accurate description of his state, he does not know what is. His petition for repairs at the crumbling Circle tower has been tabled, once again, by those blasted bureaucrats; he has been worrying to no end about Felix settling in among the Orlesian students (Maker, what if these southern louts decide to bully his boy for being from Tevinter?); and he has still not found an apprentice to help with his research of magical manipulation of time and space. Surely, a little exotic adventure to distract himself from all of this would be forgivable?  
  
That was what he told himself to justify following that painted woman down the street. But from the moment he crossed the threshold, the 'exotic adventure' began looking less and less appealing.  
  
He is seeing it all with unforgiving, unapologetic clarity. Elves, female and male alike, scurrying past him to greet human patrons - some starting to entertain them right here in the... lobby, if one could call the room that. And the 'dearest guests', making use of the services being offered with an exceedingly smug, leering look on their faces - which comes from the knowledge that, for a modest fee, all of these sleek, oiled, almost completely exposed bodies will pass into their full possession, theirs to use as they see fit.  
  
Everything about his gauche, decadent surroundings is the same as it was that night - save for one detail. As he stumbles forward and looks around him, his head swimming with the pungent multitude of odours and his eyes tearing up in the dense smoke, every elf that he chances to see almost instantly acquires familiar features.   
  
There is an elven woman, straddling the knee of a corpulent merchant as he licks off chocolate sauce that trickles down her bared breasts - and as she looks over her shoulder, her cropped blonde hair suddenly grows longer and thicker, turning inky-black in colour, and her face gets sprinkled with freckles. Not too far off, a kinswoman of hers walks by, serving drinks; she is older (a fact that she tries to conceal with many hard, caked layers of make-up) - and the moment she comes closer, the fleshy thighs that flash through the gap in her skirt turn from milky-white to dark-bronze, and her wrinkled skin smoothes over, making her appear no more than twenty-five years old. Then, on the couch in the corner, a third she-elf undergoes a similar unnerving transformation. A female client in flowing robes runs her fingers up her entertainer's bare arm, cackling in delight as the flickering mage fire at the tips of her long, sharp nails makes her leaf-eared companion writhe in silent pain. And as she is tormented thus, the elf's tear-streaked face becomes rounder and swarthier, and her glassy eyes fill with a liquid blue glow. Close by, two men and a woman are playing cards at a creaking, bandy-legged little table - their prize being a half-naked dancer, who stands frozen on tiptoe, emulating a statue (at the guests' demand, perhaps), with a smile of false glee plastered across her face, while her brow glistens with perspiration and the muscles of her legs are ready to burst with the strain. She does not escape her hapless sisters' fate either: the features of her sweating face seem to melt into something completely different, while her curling hair straightens out and the tattoos on her face and body change to the markings of the Dalish. Even the young elven boy who limps by (apparently having just finished pleasuring a particularly demanding client) seems to be affected by this inexplicable change. His bleeding lips grow fuller - and his blackened eyes, larger. This gives him a more feminine look, making him resemble a certain, very particular woman.  
  
The image multiplies on and on, reflected endlessly in the features of every single elf in this dismal abode of sin - until he finds himself surrounded by the tightly closed ranks of an entire crowd of identical twins, all dark-skinned and freckled, all with the same unruly raven hair and deep blue eyes. They look up at him, questioning, pleading, while their look-alike bodies are still bearing the signs of the abuse they suffered at the hands of lustful humans.   
  
'No,' he whispers, unable to determine whether the word actually escapes his lips or only resounds inside his head. 'No! I - I am not like them! I would never hurt you!'  
  
'How do you know?' the elves in the crowd ask, repeating the question in a rustling, echoing whisper, again and again and again.   
  
These four short, simple words rush towards him like ripples on the water - till they are no longer ripples but a massive, overwhelming tidal wave.  
  
'How do you know? How do you know? How do you know?'  
  
The wave comes crushing down, sweeping him off into dizzy blackness - and as he begins to suffocate, he can still her the question, pounding at his temples, relentless and reproachful,  
  
'How do you know?'  
  
Gasping for air, Alexius jolts awake and passes his hand around his chest and neck, his skin cold and moist with sweat. This is the third time he has had this nightmare, and it is hardly less stupefying than the usual visions of Felix turning into brittle, shattering glass in his arms, or Livia lifting her head to look at him in reproach with the blank whites of her eyes as he lights her funeral pyre. It leaves him weak and drained, tearing his own mind apart with silent accusations.  
  
Yavanna is an elf, he tells himself fiercely. And for someone like him, an elf can never be more than just a slave. An obedient plaything. An object. He promised not to betray their friendship, this wonderful gift, unexpected as it is pure - and if he continues to allow his thoughts to take... a certain direction when he is in her company, he will break that promise.  
  
But what if there is more to it than that? What if - just what if, a small voice pipes up at the back of his head. Did he not go through this already when he had just met Livia? Did he not suddenly grow frozen and unresponsive, as if under the Cone of Cold spell, when she stepped towards a bookcase to scan the shelves for the tome she needed, and he became fascinated by the play of light and shadow that sculpted her profile? Did he not struggle to breathe, his stomach clenching tighter and tighter with every passing moment, as he heard footsteps echoing across the hallway and reasoned that it had to be her? Did he not start abruptly in the middle of a conversation with her and realize that they had been talking for two hours at least, and he had missed an important appointment - and did he not laugh noiselessly to himself because he did not give a damn about appointments, so long as he could relish the pleasure of her company?  
  
Yes, but that was different. That was proper. Livia, his irreplaceable research assistant, his fellow avid reformer of Circle education, and his trusted friend - she was a human; they were close to each other in age; and, despite her not having been personally picked by his father out of potential marriage candidates, she still came from a well-respected Tevinter noble family. When it dawned upon him that he would like her to become more than his friend, he could rest assured that his feelings were genuine. With Yavanna, on the other hand... Who is to say that it is not just some foul instinct kicking in? He has been raised to believe that her kind is meant to be subjugated and used for his race's profit and pleasure; and while in his mind and heart, he knows that Yavanna deserves nothing but his deepest respect and loyalty, for granting him his life and filling it with meaning - who is to say that deep inside, he is not still a slave master, sizing up a pretty young girl that he wants to be his property?  
  
'Ignosce,' he whispers hoarsely in his mother tongue, staring at the ceiling of his cramped little room in the mages' quarters. 'I am sorry. If only I knew for certain... I have lost almost all the people that I care about: Livia, Felix... And for a time, Dorian... Now I can lose one more, if I give in to... this'.  
  
He lies still under his light, patched covers for a small while longer - and when he realizes that he will not be able to go back to sleep, he decides that he might as well get to work. Yavanna... the Inquisitor became immensely enthusiastic about his use of magic to move objects through space, and began to bombard him with questions about whether the same could be done with people. Ah, what a wonderful afternoon they spent, strolling through the herb garden that the elf had personally planted: he theorized about the possibility of teleporting Inquisition agents from one campsite to another to save time on trekking through the wilds and allow to launch surprise attacks; and she little short of whirled into the air with excitement, spurring him on with interested questions and comments. It is a pity that, aside from the Anchor burned into her hand, she does not have an affinity for magic - he would have enjoyed teaching her... Wait, was that supposed to be some sort of... some sort of... Curses - he is doing it again!   
  
As, berating himself in muffled Tevene, Alexius gets dressed and walks out of his room to make his way towards the shared baths, he can catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure detaching itself from the wall. One of Leliana's people. They are always trailing him, hounding his steps, wherever he goes around Skyhold: never too obvious, never interfering, never allowing themselves to be seen save out of the corner of his eye - but still vigilant. He does not welcome their presence - but he has begun to get used to it, like a man with an injured leg eventually gets used to his own limp. He prefers not to dwell too much on them - because every time he does, he inevitably ends up wondering if they are here just to observe, or to judge him as well... say, for smiling too broadly or speaking too loudly and with too much feeling when the Inquisitor comes to visit him... like he judges himself.  
  
After washing himself (of course, he just had to look at his reflection in the cloudy brass mirror to check whether, for all the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and the silvery bristles on his temples, he still looked presentable), Alexius walks out into the courtyard. It is still very early, and the tops of the stone battlements melt away in pinkish mist. The short, trampled-up grass underfoot is wet with dew, leaving a dark-green smear as it brushes against the hem of his robe. Yavanna would have wanted to walk barefoot, to feel the soil under her soles - and most likely, she would have made him follow her example, taking his hand in hers and glancing defiantly at Leliana's guard dogs. Perhaps he should suggest that when she comes back: she will likely welcome the opportunity after treading for so long on the scorched, blood-soaked ground amid the battlefields of the Orlesian Civil War - and he will welcome the sight of her smile... Ohh, damn it all - he isn't thinking about the Inquisitor's smile again!  
  
As he crosses the courtyard and approaches the Inquisition's training grounds, a bulky, horned silhouette looms in front of him through the fog. Alexius starts and tensens instinctively. Bloody Qunari. He has never been fond of these lumbering, brainwashed savages that have been clashing with his homeland for centuries now - and when he learned that the Inquisitor had picked up one of their lot during her travels, he could not be more thankful that they dwelled in separate parts of the keep. From what Alexius can gather, the oxman has made no attempt to conceal that he is a spy for the Qun's ruthless Ben-Hassrath order - upholders of their people's strict doctrine and hunters of the malcontents. He assured the Inquisitor that they would be working together against a common enemy, and she believed him, with her usual readiness. Alexius, however, feels the dark touch of uneasiness on those rare occasions when, as today, the Qunari crosses paths with him. There is no telling when the savage might turn on his newfound allies and sabotage their cause just to appease his real masters... Although, in all fairness, the same could be said about a captured Venatori. And it has been said, many times and in many ways, and during every single argument with her overprotective advisors, the Inquisitor staunchly defended her unlikely friend. Perhaps he should take a leaf out of her book and try to get over his engrained revulsion towards the Qunari, fostered over decades of living in a society that considers their kind the epitome of all evil; try to see past what he has been taught. Is that not how scholarly breakthroughs are made?  
  
'Mornin,' the Qunari says, in a deep, rumbling, but seemingly not unfriendly voice.   
  
'Good morning,' Alexius responds, his tone reserved and cautiously polite - probing the soil, as it were.   
  
He has never seen the Inquisition's resident Ben-Hassrath spy this close before, and as the mist recedes, it becomes apparent that his grey face, though unsettlingly different from that of any human or elf, is devoid of any beast-like, feral snarl... for now. In fact, the oxman seems rather pensive; as though he was troubled by something. A state of mind that Alexius certainly would not have expected from someone like him.  
  
'You are out and about early,' the Qunari remarks, sizing Alexius up with his only eye. 'Up to some shifty Vint business?'  
  
'And you are up to shifty Ben-Hassrath business, I presume,' Alexius retorts, pursing his lips.  
  
The Qunari snorts.  
  
'Touchy guy, are you? Relax, I was just messing with you. You caused some creepy demon crap - but we stopped it from happening, right? So I don't have any quarrel with you - until you decide you need to go batshit-crazy again. But Red's got people watching you just for that occasion, and she is great at her job. Plus, the boss says you are all right, and your kid says you are all right...'  
  
'What do you mean, my kid?' Alexius snaps, his voice rising in pitch and beginning to crack towards the end of the sentence.  
  
'That's Dorian, of course,' the Qunari explains, smirking. 'He's your kid just like Krem is my kid, and every other one of the Chargers is my kid. You picked him up when he was down, and you took him in and helped him understand what he wanted to do with life - and you probably yelled at him a lot when he got up to some stupid shit'.  
  
A deep, incredulous frown furrows Alexius' forehead. How on earth did the damned Ben-Hassrath come to know so much about him?  
  
'Did Dorian tell you this?' he asks demandingly.  
  
'Sure,' the Qunari confirms. 'He's been telling me things, now and again. You didn't know we had a thing going?'  
  
Alexius purses his lips even tighter, scrutinizing the oxman intently. Don't be judgemental, he tells himself sternly. Don't be judgemental.  
  
'Dorian is a grown man,' he says at length. 'He is under no obligation to inform anyone who he sleeps with. But I will be lying if I say that I appreciate my name being mentioned in conversations with casual bedfellows'.  
  
'Ahhh, but you see,' the Qunari responds, 'We have fun together, sure - but we are also friends. This is not how we... they do it under the Qun, but over here you can easily be both friends and lovers. It suits us both just fine'.  
  
Alexius tilts his head slightly to the side, having noticed the shadow that slid across the oxman's rugged features when he mentioned his people's faith.  
  
 _'They_ do it under the Qun?' he repeats.   
  
Then, it comes to him - a memory of the Inquisitor and Dorian returning from a mission to the Storm Coast. Preoccupied and taciturn, they did not stay long before Dorian excused himself and went off to the tavern to find a 'friend who had had a rough day' (this Qunari, perhaps?), and Yavanna began to prepare for a new expedition, this time to the Exalted Plains - the one she is about to return from every moment now.  
  
When Alexius noticed her downcast expression and asked what was wrong, she merely sighed and replied,  
  
'I thought we could do the impossible and make friends with the Qunari. It turns out I was wrong'.  
  
'So...' Alexius goes on slowly, once again studying the Qunari's facial expression, 'Did your own people kick you out? For botching a mission?'  
  
'Something like that,' the oxman grunts. 'Damn mess, it was. That's why I'm moping about, I suppose. Can't sleep worth shit these days, even though Dorian does his best to get me tired. Damn mess... But hey - '  
  
He looks somewhere past Alexius, not really addressing him but rather musing to himself.   
  
'Hey - after all that crap went down, at least I saved my kids. And got back to a place where I belong. It's a good place, this. We are getting things done. Getting asses kicked. And at the end of the day, this is where I want to be'.  
  
Unexpectedly, most of all to himself, Alexius smiles.  
  
'I can emphasize with that'.  
  
'I don't know,' the oxman says, somewhat stiffly. 'At least the Qun doesn't grow those freaky red crystals and breed demons'.  
  
He falls silent for a moment or so; then, jerks his head as though there is a bothersome gnat buzzing in his ear, and changes the subject to something more cheerful,  
  
'Say, you wanna grab some drinks? Something tells me you've been having a shitty morning too. I'm sure Red's little tail won’t mind.'  
  
Alexius hesitates with a reply - but not for long. After his haunting dream, he needs to start the day with a distraction. Even though the choice of company is somewhat dubious.  
  
'Very well,' he says. 'But don't count on me to supply you with juicy gossip about Dorian's past'.  
  
'Wouldn't dream of it!' the Qunari reassures him. 'We are too busy stirring up gossip in the present!’


	2. Chapter 2

Alexius is not quite certain how, or why, he finds it in him to ask the question. Most likely, it is because he has almost finished his drink (served by the bleary-eyed, grumbling dwarven bar keep), and its mellow warmth has made him rather in the mood for friendly banter. And there is something about this Qunari, too - The Iron Bull, as he asked to be called. Something that inclines one to converse with him about all sorts of matters.  
  
For all his soldier-like crudeness and evident wariness of magic, the horned giant has expressed some thoughts that Alexius found amusing, and perhaps even philosophical, in their own way. Especially that quip about how he can get worked up about a group or a nation, but separate people are too much work hating one by one. And when the magister confessed that he bears no love for the Qun, instead of getting defensive and preachy as he half-expected him to (even after being expelled from the ranks, decades of being fed that ideology cannot simply go away overnight), The Iron Bull simply shrugged it off and agreed that the Qun is not for everyone, and then added that even when he was still a Ben-Hassrath, he did not like focusing too much on the idea of marching through Thedas and converting everyone by force. In all, Alexius can definitely see why Yavanna would find common ground with this horned mercenary. And why he, in turn, would feel more at home in the Inquisition than amongst his own kind. Perhaps the company for this morning's drink was well-chosen, after all.  
  
'I have to wonder...' Alexius begins, running his finger thoughtfully along the edge of his tankard. 'Did you and Dorian have any... misgivings about getting together?'  
  
Bull chuckles.  
  
'Well, we were pretty drunk when the first time happened. But after we slept it off, we decided to continue. So nope, no misgivings'.  
  
Alexius curls his lips.  
  
'That is not what I meant,' he says, in a pointedly reserved tone. 'I meant the difference in your background: both of you have been brought up to believe that the other is the enemy, after all'.  
  
'Like I said,' Bull shrugs. 'It would have been too much work forcing myself to hate Dorian just because he is from Tevinter. He is a great guy, your kid - filled with too much sparkly mage crap, but still. We've saved each other's backs countless times - like in that swamp, when those slimy walking dead things started crawling all over me, and Dorian shot a chain lightning through them and they all sort of ground themselves to dust... That was bad-ass! Oh, and the sex is great too, of course - rrrrripping them sheets to shreds! So... What's the point of stopping myself in the middle of all of this, and giving myself a slap, and saying, hey wait, your people are not supposed to like his people!'  
  
Alexius coughs. Giving himself a slap. Yes. Quite a fitting choice of expression.  
  
'I have known magisters who held Qunari war prisoners captive and conducted magical experiments on them,' he says grimly. 'They kept them in dismal conditions, treated them worse than one would treat a laboratory animal, referred to them as their "inventory"... Even I, with all my disdain towards your Qun, could barely stomach that.  Do you ever... think back on how your brethren were tortured in Tevinter - when you are with Dorian?'.  
  
'Well, he is not one of those magisters, and he would probably kick their asses if he walked in on them doing something like that,' Bull remarks. 'And what we are up to is nothing like that kind of torture'.  
  
Then, he narrows his sighted eye slyly and adds a question of his own,  
  
'Why are you so keen on all of this? Wanna join in?'  
  
Alexius starts, choking on his drink so hard that he starts seeing blurred red spots swimming before his eyes... Or maybe it is just Yavanna's messy-haired friend strutting about the tavern in her ragged, mustard-smeared red shirt.  
  
'No! I... I... mean...' he splutters helplessly.  
  
Please - please don't let that hot feeling on his cheeks be a blush.  
  
'Huh,' Bull nods meaningfully. 'So, it's someone else then. You have set your eye on someone else - someone who may have issues with you being a Vint. We don't have too many folks like me running around - so I am guessing... An elf? Elves have even more crappy history with your people than the Qun. And you have the hots for one...'  
  
'That's... A rather vulgar turn of phrase,' Alexius says hoarsely, taking small gasps of air to calm himself.  
  
Bull leans over and bumps his fist playfully into his shoulder - almost making him fall backwards to the floor.  
  
'Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of! It's a perfectly natural thing, getting turned on when you see a pretty woman or man - dunno which you're into. You may be kinda old, sure - no offence - but I remember some Tamassran telling me how she signed up a breeding partner to a guy that was like seventy... And they absolutely got the kid she had planned for them! So if he still had the stuff, you gotta have it, too! If you feel like it - go up to your elf and see if you can make it work!'  
  
With a burning flush stifling him since the mention of Qunari breeding (he thinks he even saw the same red blur again, this time moving in the opposite direction), Alexius looks down and grips at the edge of the table till his knuckles turn white.  
  
'I... I can't...' he mutters. 'This... This is not just any elf. It's my friend. My - my best friend, at this point in my life. If my advances insult her, I might lose her'.  
  
'Nobody has to lose anybody,' Bull says firmly. 'I never would have figured you had friends - but good for you! If you wanna keep your friend, just be respectful. Mind what she wants and what she doesn't want. Probably steer clear of the master and servant play. Oh, and maybe do one of those thingies you people do? With the flowers and musical numbers and stuff?'  
  
Alexius gives him a crooked smile and gulps down the last drops of his drink.  
  
'Thank you, I... I guess,' he says, getting up from his seat. 'I have to go now. The Arcanist should have arrived at her work station by now; that dwarf is always too excited to sleep in. I am supposed to be assisting her today'.  
  
'Sure,' Bull replies genially. 'Gotta love blowing stuff up when you have official permission, eh? Remember what I said. Respect is key. She is your friend, not your slave - but if you were smart enough to do weird crap with time travel, you are smart enough to understand boundaries. So quit second-guessing yourself and just roll with it. If she wants you, and if you are even half as good in bed as Dorian, she will have one heck of a night'.  
  
Alexius does his utmost to ignore the last part of Bull's little pep talk, lest he get blinded by the red blur again. But saucy details aside, the ox... the man does seem to have managed to inspire a modicum of confidence within him. One of these days, he will talk to Yavanna. Explain how he feels. Present his case before her for judgement. Try his utmost to prove that dream wrong. One of these days.  
  
***  
  
Curiously enough, the conversation between Bull and Alexius has chanced to shortly precede a very similar discussion, taking place in another part of Skyhold's courtyard, this time between two women.  
  
Their little adventuring party has just returned from the Exalted Plain: only Lavellan, Cassandra, and Vivienne, with Solas having run off, almost in tears, when his spirit friend proved too weak after being trapped in the summoning circle and dissipated into thin air.  
  
The two human women glared at the remaining elf disapprovingly all the way back: the pain of the binding ritual had turned the spirit into a demon, and by destroying the pillars that held the summoning circle together, they were risking unleashing a mindless, colossal, lumbering beast on the land. There was no guarantee that, having been set free, the spirit would revert to its true form (like it did, in the end, as it bid goodbye to Solas) - but as always, Lavellan preferred to hope for the best until the very end. Even as the demon reared up to its full height, clawing at the ground with its scaly legs and ploughing the inside of the circle with lashes of lightning magic; even as some of its sweeping blows knocked back Lavellan's companions, leaving bleeding gashes in their skin; even as Cassandra and Vivienne adjusted the grip on their weapons, ready to strike at the writhing creature - the Inquisitor firmly commanded them to stand down, to hit the pillars, not the beast that was bound by their magic.  
  
The trust she placed in Solas' plan proved to be not entirely baseless, and when the last pillar shattered, the demon's husk melted away, revealing a ghostly woman that addressed Solas' in painful, faltering Elvhen, and then floated off in a handful of embers. But even so, the Seeker and the Enchanter have found it hard to support this daring escapade.  
  
The heavy tension that ensnares the three of them is broken somewhat when, crossing the main drawbridge, they see a certain elven figure hovering in the distance.  
  
'And there he is,' Vivienne says through her teeth, watching Lavellan rush off towards the spirit-loving apostate and almost knock him off-balance with an embrace. 'Never mind that we had to clear a path back through trenches full of undead while he ran off to brood'.  
  
'I certainly have never seen Solas this distraught before,' Cassandra remarks. 'Hard as it is to imagine, that... creature really was dear to him'.  
  
'A most dangerous sentiment to give in to,' Vivienne responds. 'And the Inquisitor has been far too dismissive of this danger. A desire to help everyone, no matter what they ask, may be admirable - but this was taking it too far. For a leader that is to inspire Thedas to rise up against its enemies, our dear Lavellan is too much like a coddling parent distracted by needy children'.  
  
The Seeker makes her signature snorting noise to show that she shares this particular sentiment.  
  
'I really need to remind her that we should stop making detours and investigate the Western Approach. The corrupted Wardens will not wait'.  
  
'You do that, my dear,' Vivienne says, giving Cassandra a farewell nod and preparing to head off. 'Before that Cole pesters her about a demon kitten stuck in a tree or something of the sort. I am going to get a good, long bath with those essential oils Varric procured for me. The stench of the corpses is still eating through my clothes; I think I will have to burn them'.  
  
As the Imperial Enchanter saunters off, Cassandra waits until Lavellan has finished speaking to Solas (no doubt, comforting him about the loss of the... spirit), and then calls out,  
  
'Now you must head to the war room and send a scouting party to the Western Approach! We cannot dally any longer!’  
  
'B-but Cassandra!' the elf protests, trotting up to her. 'I still have so many things to do listed in my journal! Hey - we can go find your missing Seekers next!'  
  
For a moment, Cassandra's lips are touched by a fleeting but warm smile.  
  
'You are trying so hard to help everyone, Yavanna,' she says. 'But now is not the time. Our primary focus should be on our main mission, not these... side quests. We have garnered enough influence over the map of Thedas to direct our forces to the Western Approach - and it is imperative we do so as soon as possible'.  
  
Lavellan's shoulders rise and fall abruptly as she draws a sigh of resignation.  
  
'Oh, fine,' she says. 'Let's go to the war room then, and see what my advisors have to offer'.  
  
Side by side, they set out walking up the flight of stone steps that leads towards the keep's entrance. Cassandra begins to outline the plan of an expedition into the great desert to the west, and Lavellan listens to her for a while - but then, she stops in her tracks and flails her arms frantically.  
  
'Oh gods!' she exclaims. 'I just remembered! I... I sort of ruined one of the books I borrowed from you. I am so sorry!'  
  
Cassandra frowns, a tiny storm cloud seeming to boil over her head. Lavellan has been poring over her collection of smutty literature for quite some time now, dragging the books in her backpack and stuffing her nose inside them every time she got a chance, even in the middle of the wilderness - and right now the Seeker must feel like an overprotective high dragon whose horde has been not only snatched away, but also desecrated.  
  
'Ruined how?' she asks shrilly.  
  
Lavellan coughs, drawing little circles on the ground with her toe.  
  
'I... highlighted one passage there. I - I got lost in thought, and didn't realize what I was doing. I never did it again, though - I promise!'  
  
Cassandra's fierce countenance softens slightly.  
  
'No harm done,' she says. 'Maker knows, I have had the urge to do the same far too often. It is fascinating, is it not - how some people can be so eloquent on paper? How they can weave words into... into living images in the reader's mind? Full of passion and meaning and...'  
  
She forces herself to stop, inhaling loudly.  
  
'I do go on, don't I?'  
  
Lavellan beams at her.  
  
'It is so lovely to talk to you when you are not yelling at everyone! But...'  
  
The corners of her lips slide down sadly.  
  
'But I wasn't exactly, uh... Reading those books for, er... images. You see...'  
  
The tips of the elf's ears burn like two autumnal leaves, as she hides her lower face in her palm. Cassandra comes closer to her, her expression growing concerned.  
  
'Go on,' she says earnestly, sitting down with her legs dangling over the edge of the stone platform where they all once stood when Lavellan was crowned Inquisitor - and inviting her friend to do the same.  
  
This is hardly the most dignified posture for the leaders of the Inquisition - but neither were those impossible ice-skating pirouettes and snowball fights back in Haven; or childish splashing battles ankle-deep in the clear waters of the lake in the Hinterlands; or swapping exaggerated ghost stories in the moonlit camp in the shadow of the Fallow Mire's ominous standing stones; or any of the other many pursuits Lavellan so often talked Cassandra into (more often than not, with Varric's contribution, much to the Seeker's embarrassment).  
  
'There is a mission waiting to be completed. And you know that these sort of... conversations are not my strong suit,' Cassandra continues, banishing the thought of Varric stripped down to the waist, with a blood lotus stuck behind his ear, mimicking an exotic dancer somewhere from Rivain, while Lavellan and Sera were bending over with laughter and she herself had to live through a most painful struggle in order to suppress a giggle.  
  
'But you talked to me when I was troubled - too many times to count. I would be a poor friend if I did not try to do the same. The war room will have to wait for five more minutes'.  
  
Lavellan perches herself next to Cassandra, knocking her heels against the stone wall the way Cole does when he watches the comings and goings in the keep, trying to determine who is hurting.  
  
'Well,' she says, with a tremendous sigh. 'Well - it's like this. My clan was not very big, and we had a pretty secluded life before the Conclave, only coming into contact with humans when we absolutely had to. What I learned about the life outside our forests mostly came from those merchants and villagers who were friendly enough to answer all the ten thousand questions that I had - and from books. And since the thing that's... kind of on my mind a lot right now is of a, uh, very particular sort, I thought I could find some advice in your books. Something that could help me see clearer'.  
  
'And did you?' Cassandra asks. 'Did you find that advice - in the passage you outlined, perhaps?'  
  
Lavellan bites at her lips, still averting the Seeker's gaze.  
  
'I did find some things,' she says. 'But I did not really like them - no... no offence to your books. I mean... I know that women can fall in love with men, and also with other women, and that men can fall in love with other men... And that there are folks who are neither men nor women, or both at the same time - and they can fall in love too... But... In all the stories I've read, the lovers are usually around the same age. And...'  
  
She gulps down a little lump in her throat.  
  
'And if the woman is a lot younger than the man - and I mean, a lot younger - the books say that she is either a sly little rogue after her stupid husband's riches or whatever, or a victim of a disgusting old villain, who does all sorts if horrible things to her, until the younger hero or heroine comes to save the day. But she never, ever loves him, or wants him... And I - '  
  
Her voice trembles.  
  
'I... could spend so much time just looking at his face, reading all these lines that tell a whole story about him, both beautiful and sad... There are lines across his forehead and in the lower corners of his mouth - they come from being in pain and breaking apart on the inside; but there are other lines, too, in the corners of his eyes - they come from smiling. I have been making him smile more and more often in these past few weeks - and it makes me so happy... I want him to smile, and to laugh, just like everyone else that I'm friends with - but at the same time, I want him to put his arms around me, like in a hug, but differently, and to kiss me... And all the books say that this is wrong. That I should not care for him like I do'.  
  
When Lavellan's voice rustles off into silence, Cassandra does not give a coherent reply for some time, her face flushed with colour just like her friend's.  
  
'I... I had no idea you had... feelings for an older man,' she says at last, taking great care to search for the right words. 'I would not advise acting on them, lest it interfere with your duties... But - but not because of his age: like I said, you are the Inquisitor... Your station...'  
  
She mumbles something else along the same lines, but then shakes her head violently from side to side and cuts herself short,  
  
'That is what your comrade in arms would have told you to do. But your friend, one who herself is... ah, never mind... Your friend would have told you to muster the courage to seek out this man and see if he returns your affections. If he does, and his intentions are honourable, then perhaps something might come out of it, after all. In that case, the years between you would not matter. What you feel is...'  
  
She shakes her head again, as if wondering at her own flustered state,  
  
'It is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard, or read of. It this is deemed wrong, then I shall personally deal with the foolish scribblers who planted this thought into your mind. Even Varric, if the books you read included his. Especially Varric'.  
  
Lavellan looks up at her, eyes rounded.  
  
'You really mean it? Have you - have you guessed who this man is?'  
  
'No,' Cassandra confesses sincerely. 'I shall not say I am not curious, but I am not disrespectful either'.  
  
'He is a... friend of mine,' the elf explains, hesitating somewhat. 'No-one from our inner circle - but a dear, dear friend. Yes, I know I say that about everyone - but that's true. I... I don't think I should tell you his name now. Maybe later - after I've had that talk'.  
  
'I understand,' Cassandra says.  
  
It is quite evident from her expression that she can barely contain her girlish excitement over the romance that is about to unfold before her very eyes. But Lavellan has an inkling suspicion that the Seeker might have changed her tune and summoned Cullen, and that the two of them would have started running around in circles and screaming 'Venatori ploy! He has blood-magicked her - I knew it!' and some other similar nonsense - if they knew the whole truth. If they knew that their Inquisitor was already utterly lost when the announcement 'Agents of the Inquisition - I give you magister Gereon Alexius!' still hung in the air, and he walked into the tavern, tall and proud, parading his elaborate Tevinter robes and spiked gloves that looked like dragon claws. When the shimmering firelight first outlined his haughty profile, and his lips parted in that cold, confident sneer, meant to conceal the troubled look in his eyes.  
  
Better not let them know until she acts on Cassandra's advice. Until she explains herself to him. Creators, please let him understand. Please let him see that she does not mean to trick him, or to insult his wife's memory. Please let Cassandra be right - please make it so that years do not matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert!

'Have you been to the tavern lately?' Dagna asks excitedly the moment her fellow researcher walks into the Undercroft.  
  
Alexius takes time with an answer - first and foremost, he has to give his customary prolonged glare to that smith who's always loitering around the working stations, grousing to himself with an almost undecipherable rural Fereldan accent. Harritt, he thinks his name is; the man's portrait should be published in every encyclopedia to illustrate several articles, 'Superstition: noun' and 'Narrow-minded: adjective' being the chief among them.  
  
Apparently, this backwater boor with a ridiculous moustache spat when he first saw Dorian - and whenever Alexius' research brings him to the Undercroft, the smith starts muttering an impossible mix of curses and prayers and scrubbing furiously at every surface the magister touches. Sometimes, he also puts on what he must think to be his knowledgeable face, and relates a grizzly tale (passed on, no doubt, by his village elders to the younger generation as a warning) about how the bath houses in Tevinter use blood instead of water, and how Imperial mages have the power to suffocate children in their mothers' wombs with a single wave of their hand.  
  
At least the Arcanist seems to have enough sense to laugh it all off; Alexius tries to do the same, but the smith's ramblings still leave a bad taste in his mouth. After all, he is not just any 'evil Tevinter'; he is an evil Tevinter who plotted against the Herald of Andraste herself - and this is but one of many reminders that not everyone is ready to forgive something like that. Nor should they. Perhaps The Iron Bull's lighthearted relationship advice is not really applicable to him; perhaps he should - he must - second-guess himself. Not only is he older than Yavanna; not only does he come from a nation that enslaved her people; but he also tried to kill her. He looked her in the eye and told her that she should never have existed! He apologized for that, twice - but this did not alter the past, now did it? He never did become proficient with... time management.  
  
And he still has not answered the Arcanist's question, either.  
  
'As a matter of fact, I was just there,' he says, hoping that the walk back from The Herald's Rest has cleared off all influence of that drink he had with the one-eyed mercenary. 'Why do you ask?'  
  
'Did you see that little platform in the corner, under the archery contest notice board?' the dwarf says, with a very smug grin. 'I installed it yesterday, to match the one we've got here! The plan is to start travelling between the two any day now!'  
  
With this boisterous announcement, she gestures at the circle of etched stone at her feet, which looks like a rune but is large enough for a person to stand on. Once activated, it is meant to transport the user across a large expanse of space in a manner of minutes, maybe even seconds, functioning more efficiently than any of the short-distance teleportation spells favoured by Tevinter battle mages - and potentially enabling the Inquisition messengers and scouts to almost literally fly across the map.  
  
The energetic little dwarf and her new Tevinter research partner have been fiddling with this new invention for quite some time. Alexius would be lying if he said that the project does not interest him - but right now, Dagna's desire to jump head-first from theory to practice painfully reminds him of himself, during the darkest time of his life, when he was to tackle wildly unstable magic in service of his eldritch master. And pain is far from helpful when it comes to controlling one's temper.  
  
'At the tavern, really?' he snaps at the Arcanist, his voice loud and angry. 'Do you want to start using random drunkards as your test subjects? What if someone decides to poke at the platform and gets sucked in by accident? Ah, but of course - that is hardly any concern of yours, now is it? I am the one who will take all the blame if something goes awry!'  
  
Dagna cocks her head to the side, looking like a curious little bird hatchling that has stumbled across a particularly large beetle.  
  
'Aw, you sure are in a grumpy mood today! I just thought the distance between the Undercroft and the tavern would be a good starting point - it's not too far, but further than the capacity of those Fade Step spells we talked about. The other platform is sort of just there, so far - a pretty stone that won't do anything until we activate this one and step on it. So, nobody is going to get hurt! Probably...'  
  
Alexius shakes his head.  
  
'Last time I conducted an experiment with time and space, I almost ended up unraveling the whole world,' he says bitterly.  
  
'Yes, but you drew from the power of the Breach, didn't you?' Dagna points out. 'Which is very fascinating, by the way - I wish you agreed to talk more about your research... We, though - you know that we have been trying to perfect the teleportation process so that is does not mess up the Veil even more. There won't be any unraveling here... Though some people's hearts may explode from travelling so far and so fast... Or not! I am sure that platform in the tavern is perfectly safe...'  
  
She frowns and taps her index finger thoughtfully against the tip of her button-like nose.  
  
'Buuuut it might be a good idea to test our calculations some more before we actually activate the platform from here... We can also stick a note or something on the one in the tavern, saying, "Don't touch the thing".  
  
'Like that stopped anyone before,' Harritt pipes in suddenly from behind an armour rack at the back of the room.  
  
'Perhaps some people should occupy themselves with ruminating on how slaves in Tevinter get their ears cut off for eavesdropping,' Alexius retorts acidly.  
  
Harritt gulps and slinks out of the room, muttering something about needing to poke the quartermaster about new supplies. Thus, the magister and the dwarf are left all alone (if one does not count Alexius' persistent tail, stationed outside the Undercroft) - free to their tinkering and bickering. Until, a short time afterwards, they are interrupted again.  
  
'Heeeeey luv!' a cheeky female voice calls out from the entrance to the Undercroft. 'Look what I got ya!'  
  
Alexius purses his lips and buries his nose even deeper in his research notes. Sera, that messy-haired elven rogue that has captivated the Arcanist, may get along with Dorian - but it seems like Alexius will forever be a 'creepy mage freak' in her eyes, just like in Harritt's. Nothing unexpected there, of course - he would not have dwelled too deeply on it, if that was all there was to Sera's frequent visits to the Undercroft. But the true reason why he is rather discomforted by her presence is entirely different.  
  
She is a simple child, this Sera. She strives to live in a simple world, which is clearly divided into the baddies (who, according to her loud chatter, peppered with some... almost intriguing colloquialisms, are to be treated to an arrow in the eye socket, a kick in the groin, or at the very least, an earful of multi-tier swear words) and the goodies (who get away with a just pie in the face).  
  
And in this world of Sera's, love is also simple. Here she is, bending down to plant a kiss on the corner of her 'Widdle's lips, while thrusting one arm dramatically behind her back and pulling out a handful of sticky chocolate candy - it all comes as naturally to her as breathing. She pours affection onto her dwarven lover with the effortless ease of a ray of sunlight that streams through the shutters.  
  
Just like Alexius envied that Tevinter tailor who was unexpectedly reunited with his son, thanks to a chance meeting with the Inquisition's mercenaries, he is now envying these two women, so young, so carefree, and so absorbed by their tender feelings. Dagna takes a break from her work and bites deeply into the first sweetmeat, melted glazing trickling between her fingers; while Sera watches her with a grin and, dipping her finger into the dripping chocolate in her own hand, doodles lopsided little hearts on the dwarf's round cheeks. After glancing at them over his papers, Alexius turns away tactfully, but he can still hear the two of them munching and giggling; and the sound suddenly makes him feel old and lonely and broken.  
  
It must be so liberating, sitting side by side with someone you care deeply about, and occupying yourself with all manner of nonsense, and laughing at the tiniest provocation, because you can barely contain the happiness that is filling you whole, tingling at your lips like wine. He used to experience the same, long ago, in what seems like another life - when he had just made his blundering, boyish confession to Livia, and they used every chance they could to make utter fools of themselves in public, spoon-feeding each other, or performing various tasks around the Circle with their hands firmly locked together (even if it inconvenienced them), or looking into each other's eyes and smiling till their faces began to ache. He never thought that he would ever consider engaging in the same happy foolishness with someone else... But is it even possible now - with the mark that he now bears, left by age and grief and regret?.. And here comes another one of those excruciating circles of self-doubt; Bull would disapprove so much.  
  
Who knows how many more identical chains of thought Alexius would have had to drag through his mind - but all his further musing are abruptly cut short when Dagna suddenly grows pale and leans forward heavily, soft brownish foam filling her chocolate-smeared mouth. Sera, who has been sitting on the dwarf's work table, licking her fingers, almost bites off half of her own phalanx.  
  
'Widdle!' she calls out, catching the Arcanist into her arms as she topples down to the floor, and giving her a prolonged shake, so that her head bobs listlessly from side to side like a broken doll's. 'Shite, Widdle, what are you on about?! How - how did you do that slimy thing with your mouth? Are you messing with me? Widdle?'  
  
When no sound escapes the dwarf's twisted, purple-tinted lips, Sera lays her down on the floor and leaps to her feet, panting loudly.  
  
'You arsewipe!' she screams hoarsely, clenching her fists and advancing at Alexius. 'What did you bleedin' do to her?!'  
  
The suddenness with which this angry little blonde whirlwind assaults him, battering at the front of his robe (and apparently, aiming to kick at a somewhat lower point), makes Alexius drop his papers to the floor and stagger somewhere in the general direction of the experimental teleportation platform.  
  
'I assure you, this time I had nothing to do with this,' he says.  
  
'Don't you try to talk funny to me!' Sera huffs warningly. 'Widdle is all stiff and cold, and it's your fault! Quizzie said you are just like Dorian -  a friendly Tevinter... But Dorian tried to help from the start, sort of, and you were up to creepy magey shite! You are no better than your buddy Coryphy-fish!'  
  
She is ready to say more, much more, but is interrupted in mid-sentence by a wheezing choke, the same chocolate froth bubbling at the corners of her lips. Obviously terrified out of her wits, with her eyes rounded and unblinking, she grabs herself by the throat with one hand and pushes Alexius away with the other, before dropping unconscious by her Widdle's side.  
  
Of course, the elf being smaller and lighter built than Alexius, the frantic thumping of her fists is not enough to knock him down - but still, he does sway even further towards the teleportation device, which flares up with a stinging, bright shade of blue the moment he steps on it. Later on, Alexius will have plenty of time to speculate what exactly prompted this unexpected activation; perhaps the platform turned out even more volatile than he had suspected, or perhaps Dagna accidentally set off the controls as she fainted. He will have plenty of theories in that regard - but right now, he could not care less about cause and effect and anything else of the sort; he barely has time to register the shattering pain in his chest as he is hurtled trough space at a dizzying speed, even faster than that of his and Dorian's favourite Fade Step spell. A moment later, the blurred, spinning world around him is filled with a deafening clamour that sends an aching, drumming pulse through his temples and ears. As his surroundings sluggishly slide into place, Alexius discovers that he has been tossed onto one of the tavern tables, which broke apart under the force of the impact, and is now lying on top of a mound of debris, with his heart racing, a hot stream of blood running out of either one of his nostrils (and apparently, out of his ear, too), and a jagged splinter lodged deep in his side. Before the pain begins to cloud his vision, he manages to discern a small pile of stone shards - all that is left of the tavern platform - and a large, horned shape rushing towards him, followed by a smaller one, apparently belonging to a human.  
  
'Whoah, old man, where did you come from?' The Iron Bull's voice booms into his throbbing ear. 'Damn, you are in shitty shape - got yourself smeared all over the place! Hey Krem - wasn't Stitches around here somewhere? Don't just gawk, go fetch him! Go, go, go!..'  
  
'Stitches?' Alexius wheezes, after the sound of running footsteps finishes resonating through his entire skull (the intention is to give his words a mildly amused intonation, but he is not certain if he has pulled it off). 'Is that... your healer? I don’t need… healing… They… they do... The Undercroft... The Arcanist and her... rogue... I think they've been poisoned...'  
  
To his utmost surprise, Bull responds with a loud exclamation, 'I knew it!', followed by a string of what must be Qunlat curses and then, another exclamation (or grunt, rather).  
  
‘Grr, I’ll handle this! You lot stay put!’  
  
With that, he charges off, with his head bent down and horns pointing forward, which makes him look quite similar to his rampaging namesake.  
  
Krem, who has already returned in the company of what Alexius perceives as another human-shaped blur (Stitches, presumably), glances out of the tavern door and remarks,  
  
'So the chief was right... He didn't misplace his "special candy" stash: that elf kid pilfered it. I hope she didn't have time to eat as much as Rocky did that last time'.  
  
'If Bull insists on developing an immunity to poison by dousing all these outlandish sweetmeats he eats, he really needs to hide them better,' Stitches grumbles, lowering himself next to the magister and preparing to yank out the piece of wood that he has pinned himself on. 'And wrap them into little notes saying "Don't touch the thing."  
  
Despite the mangled gash left by the splinter, and the blood scorching his face, Alexius manages to utter a moderately convincing sarcastic 'Ha!'.  
  
For once, Master Harritt's so-called folk wisdom has hit the mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Dagna are gonna get off really easy. I am just setting up a reason why Sera would later confront Dagna with a nightmare similar to the one she has when she is with the Inquisitor; also, I believe that Sera would be the most likely person to do what she did (i.e. steal some of Bull's poison stash). This is not a "kill your gays" thing, and I promise that in the next story, I will put my Inquisitor (who is straight) through much worse than this.
> 
> Also, please note that I wrote this way before the Orlando shooting; I just have not gotten around to posting this until now. This plot move is not meant to hurt the feelings of the tragedy victims in any way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like I promised, Sera and Dagna are gonna be all right! :D

'Andruil's underpants, I can't see where I am going!' Lavellan exclaims with a small laugh, as she bends backwards deliberately under the weight of the pile of paperwork that she is carrying. 'Nobody warned me that Josephine would pounce at me with this as soon as I enter the war room!'  
  
'You do have to occupy yourself with something as you wait for the scouts to return,' Cassandra points out.  
  
'I hope there are more letters from that Lady Forsythia in there,' the elf says. 'They are always so fun to read! Though I do pity her; being so ridiculously angry all the time can't be good for your health... All right, I am going to drop these off in my room - and give you back your books, too!'  
  
Cassandra coughs softly, apparently recollecting the talk they had before the meeting with the advisors. There is a somewhat strained pause, as neither of the women seems quite certain how to continue the conversation - but the silence is quickly broken by the agitated voice of an Inquisition scout, who runs up to them from the direction of the Undercroft.  
  
'Your Worship! Seeker Pentaghast!' he cries out, before catching his breath and clicking his heels together to stand on ceremony, his back rigidly straight as if he had a plank of wood tied to it.  
  
'We have a situation!'  
  
'What?' Cassandra asks sharply, instantly closing her fingers round her sword hilt. 'Give us a full report!'  
  
'The Arcanist and Miss Sera are currently unconscious and in need of a healer,' the scout declares. 'They appear to have ingested some sort of poison.'  
  
Here, Lavellan makes a small horror-struck squeak, darting sideways towards the Undercroft door - but Cassandra motions her to stay and listen, as the scout has not finished speaking yet.  
  
'The Venatori captive, who was inside at the time, has most likely used magic to escape, as I did not see him leave through the door. I did hear a blast of what I interpreted as magical energy - which is not unusual in itself, given the nature of the Arcanist's work; but after I decided to investigate all the same, I found the captive gone, and the two women as I just described. It must have been his doing'.  
  
'Wait, wait, wait...' Lavellan flaps her arms emphatically. 'Slow down! What do you mean, Venatori captive? What Venatori captive? Why do we have Venatori captives walking around poisoning people?'  
  
'He is talking about that Alexius character,' Cassandra says, her teeth clenched. 'The one you were so determined to befriend. I hoped against all hope that your trust in him was well-placed - but apparently, my first instinct was right. The man has betrayed us at last. And two innocents had to pay the price. Go,' she nods curtly, addressing the scout, while unsheathing her sword at the same time, 'Madame Vivienne's quarters are close by; she has claimed to have expertise both in healing and in poisons. Go fetch her; I don't care if she is still bathing - pull her out of the tub if need be. In the meanwhile, the Inquisitor will stay with the victims, and I will go find that cursed Venatori and make him answer for what he did'.  
  
Lavellan repeats the stifled squeak again.  
  
'Gods, no...' she mutters, watching dazedly as the scout races off upstairs. 'It... It can't be Gereon... He wouldn't...'  
  
'We will discuss this later, Inquisitor,' Cassandra says, her voice sounding as hard and metallic as her drawn blade. 'Pray to whomever you do that your foolish leniency has not cost Dagna and Sera their lives'.  
  
With that, she runs down the hall, almost ramming her head into the broad chest of the Iron Bull, who blocks her path at the bottom of the main stairs that lead into the courtyard, as he is heading in the opposite direction. Neither of them stops to apologize and find out what is going on; they just swerve around each other and proceed to go their separate ways. As for Lavellan, she is not even aware of what is going on behind her back as she trudges across the Undercroft's threshold, her vision blocked by the pearly mist of tears.  
  
Her elders have always told her that the way she thinks is drastically different from a normal person's. Normal people don't feel sorry for those who wronged them; normal people don't keep smiling when they should be angry; normal people don't squander the gifts of forgiveness and friendship left and right. She used to laugh those scolding lectures off, always defiantly cheerful, always certain that what she was doing was right - and now look where that certainty got her.  
  
Look at Sera and Dagna, lying so still side by side, with barely an inkling of a pulse, throbbing faintly under the skin of their wrists as Lavellan kneels down by her friends' side and takes each of their hands in hers. And look at her, still refusing to believe what her eyes tell her.  
  
They were all here, behind a closed door, when the poor sweethearts swallowed that nasty poison - so unless someone jumped out of that waterfall at the back of the cave where the Undercroft is located, it had to have been Gereon... Alexius. It had to have been Alexius.  
  
Incapacitating those who were standing in his way, making use of the confusion to escape - that definitely sounds like the actions of the traitor Cassandra sees him as. Maybe she should start treating him the same way as well; maybe she should start believing that he has been using her all this time, slowly gaining her trust, getting her to convince everyone to lower their guard around him... until finally, he felt confident enough to bolt for freedom and return to his evil cult.  
  
But she can't. Dear gods, she just can't. A single glance at Dagna and Sera's ashen faces and closed, sunken eyes makes her heart bleed - but still, she can't force herself to blame Alexius... Gereon. No - whatever happened here, it can't have been Gereon's fault. He had no reason to hurt Dagna and Sera; he had no reason to betray the Inquisition. The Venatori mean nothing to him now - nor he to them, since he failed at the one job the Elder One had given him. He - he is her friend now; her Gereon... That is how she sees him - as much a part of her inner circle as Dorian or Cassandra or Blackwall; gods, she did not even get it at first when the scout kept referring to him as her 'captive'!  
  
'It's gonna be all right,' she whispers, leaning closer down to Sera and brushing her unevenly cut hair out of her eyes. 'Vivienne will come, and help you, and then we will all find out it was one big misunderstanding, and we will all laugh about it... You, me, Dagna, and Gereon, too'.  
  
Oh, she is such a terrible leader, isn't she? Not a single ruthless bone in her body.  
  
'Boss... Hey boss!'  
  
With a start, Lavellan lifts her head - and her eyes immediately fall on the huge, sweating bulk of her Qunari friend... No, that is not right: of her friend, The Iron Bull.  
  
'They breathing?' he asks brusquely, nodding his horned head at Dagna and Sera.  
  
'Just barely,' Lavellan says, in a small, shaky voice.  
  
'Gotta wake them up,' Bull states firmly. 'Use some of the magic crap round here or shake them or something. They need to be awake and puking their guts out. The poison shouldn't kill them, not in this amount; but the sooner they get it all out, the better'.  
  
'How do you know they've been poisoned?' Lavellan asks, too taken aback to stop Bull from lifting the unconscious elf and dwarf up and literally shaking them. 'Did you talk to Cassandra?'  
  
'Nope,' Bull replies, with a loud grunt. 'I... I just know where the stuff came from. It's, uh...'  
  
He grunts again, a vein swelling in his neck.  
  
'I may not be Ben-Hassrath any longer, but I still do some of the things they taught me. Like taking different poisons in small doses to build up an immunity. Only - only a dose that's small for me may not be so small for a puny bony elf...'  
  
'Oh no', Lavellan says weakly, clutching her chest. 'Oh Bull, I'm so sorry...'  
  
He stops his Sera-and-Dagna-shaking for a while and gives the Inquisitor a dark look that confirms what she is fearing. If it were not for the situation they are in, she would have hugged him. The poor dear has already been through so much, being forced to choose between his Chargers and the Qun - and now he is blaming himself for... this.  
  
'I messed up, boss,' he says simply. 'I spiked those imported sweets Varric got for me with poison. Shoulda known the little thief would find them. Shoulda hidden them better - specially after Rocky helped himself to the last batch and spent two hours lying on the floor while he thought he was dancing with dragons. I deserve a kick in the balls for this. Several kicks. Preferably by Cassandra. She knows her ball-kicking'.  
  
'Ball-kicking will not help anyone,' Lavellan says quietly. 'And Bull... I don't think we should tell the others about this. Because if Sera finds out, she will blame herself, too. She stole these sweets for Dagna - she just wanted to make her happy...'  
  
'And instead, she almost got the two of them killed,' a silken smooth, sarcastic voice says from behind them. 'How typical'.  
  
'M'am!' Bull whirls around to greet Vivienne, looking a little flustered (like he usually does when the 'secret Tamassran' is around). 'I thought the boss needed some help after this accident with the, uh...'  
  
'Toxic fumes. Sera and Dagna have eaten some food that was soaked through with toxic fumes from an experiment,' Lavellan intervenes in a hurry, fervently hoping that Vivienne has only overheard the very last phrase of their conversation (at first glance, this appears to be true, for the Enchanter does not raise any objections as the Inquisitor continues to speak).  
  
'That's what Bull determined with his... amazing observation skills, honed over the years of service in the Ben-Hassrath!'  
  
'Absolutely,' Bull confirms, seeming more at ease now as he slips back into his natural element (after all, they did not call him Hisraad, or Liar, for nothing). 'We have dealt with the source of the fumes now, though. All that's left is to make them start barfing'.  
  
'The sacrifices I have to make for the Inquisition,' Vivienne says - with the same small grimace she makes when the women of the inner circle describe their monthly stomach pains while she brews her miraculous herbal teas to ease their suffering.  
  
Withdrawing as far as she can from the two unconscious victims of the 'poison fumes', the Enchanter flicks her wrist elegantly through the air. A wisp of tingling magic floats upwards from her open hand, reaching Sera and gripping her by the throat. As the yellowish-green glow of the spell seems to seep through her skin, the elf finally jolts awake, batting her eyelids rapidly - and, with a tremendous belch, leans to the side and showers the cracked teleportation platform with the remnants of her breakfast (heavy as usual: there is simply nothing edible that Sera will not try to stuff into her mouth, more often than not in several helpings).  
  
Vivienne wrinkles her nose.  
  
'That comparison I made in an early conversation with you, Inquisitor, is clearly an insult to all toads of Thedas,' she says. 'Now, Bull - '  
  
'Yes, m'am!' the mercenary responds readily.  
  
'Dagna is a dwarf, so this spell might not be as effective on her - but I am not coming any closer, not after just having bathed. I will need you to provide some... manual assistance while I treat our Arcanist with my magic. Just hold her, press at the points that I show you, and pray don't break any bones... Or turn this into an inappropriate act'.  
  
Bull grunts, clearly insulted by the Enchanter's last remark.  
  
'You know me, m'am. I am all about respecting boundaries. Besides, the kid is sick! So let go heal her!'  
  
'Don't you do creepy shite to Widdle,' Sera slurs faintly, in between onsets of vomiting. 'I'll... I'll show you... Like I showed that... Alex guy...'  
  
'Ah yes, my darlings,' Vivienne says, distracting herself for a moment from conjuring up little dots of light that hover over Dagna, indicating which pressure points Bull should use to wake her up. 'I knew there was a discrepancy between your account and what that scout told me - I believe he left to report to Leliana. He mentioned something about our Tevinter... house guest being involved'.  
  
Bull shakes his head resolutely.  
  
'That guy had nothing to do with it. The scout got it wrong. In fact, it was the old Vint who warned me about this whole mess. Just... sort of appeared in the tavern, all battered up like he's been tossed off a building, and said...'  
  
'So that's how he "escaped"!' Lavellan cries out, smacking herself on the forehead. 'They must have gotten the platform working!'  
  
Just at this moment, Dagna speaks up. She has also been brought back to her senses, and is now slouching on the floor, with Bull holding her by the shoulders. Gradually recovering from her first retching fit, she finds just enough strength to lift her heavy, drooping head and ask, her voice hoarse from choking on vomit, but still as eager as ever,  
  
'We did? We activated the platform? Was it spectacular? Why don't I remember anything? Why do I feel so... hhhhnnnhhh...'  
  
Here, she has to bend down and cough out more contents of her stomach.  
  
'Toxic fumes,' Bull says wisely, gently supporting both the dwarf and Sera - but not before giving a long, meaningful look to Lavellan over their heads.  
  
'I... suppose it makes sense...' Dagna mumbles, drawing a rattling breath. 'Some of the armour dyes we keep here are rather... hazardous... I guess that means... no more snacks next to the work station...'  
  
'I am happy you have learned your lesson, my dear,' Vivienne says, backtracking some more after Sera starts making a wild assortment of hiccupping and burping noises (partly because she still has to clear her stomach, and partly because she is coming to her senses and remembering her usual crude humour).  
  
'But will you please stop chattering? You will exhaust yourself; you are weakened and dehydrated as it is. Once we are... done here, I will advise Bull to carry you both to that gauche little room I hear Sera has set up in the tavern, so that you can rest. In the meanwhile, someone must see to cleaning up this mess'.  
  
'I can do it!' Lavellan pipes up. 'I have been feeling pretty useless anyway, what with me just watching and you doing all the healing work'.  
  
'Please, my dear,' Vivienne says sternly. 'We have talked about this. The Inquisitor shall not do anything as undignified as scrubbing the floors! You can notify the appropriate staff it you like - but nothing more. It is bad enough I caught you climbing the scaffolding and fixing up those mosaic tiles together with common labourers!'  
  
While continuing to tell Lavellan off, the Enchanter charges up another spell, this time tinted a shimmering blue. The orbs of magic swell over both her palms, like a couple of ghostly blossoms; when their light reaches its brightest, the orbs burst apart, sending a rejuvenating wave towards Sera and Dagna. The elf bulges her eyes fearfully, trying to crawl out of the magic's reach (since an advancing wall of blue light definitely counts as 'creepy shite') - but the wave still washes over her, cloaking her in an ethereal aura and then gradually dissipating. Sera is left completely stupefied, with her face twisted into an apprehensive grimace - but her face is now no longer white and sickly, indicating that Vivienne's spell has cleansed the poison from her system. Dagna watches her sweetheart's healing with delighted sparkles dancing in her sunken eyes; she herself needs a double dose of magic before the purplish shadows tainting her features finally clear, and a healthy flush returns to her cheeks.  
  
Satisfied with her handiwork, Vivienne nods to herself, then addresses Lavellan again.  
  
'Now, darling - if you really do not want to stand idle, you will be of much more use pacifying Cassandra; that seems to count among your... many talents. The scout informed me that she was off to confront that former magister - and if he is as innocent as you imply...'  
  
Lavellan presses her hands against her cheeks, turning her face into an extremely anxious-looking sandwich.  
  
'Gods, you are right!' she says. 'She is going to kill him!'  
  
'Go off then, boss,' Bull encourages her. 'We will be right behind you. You can't have Cass gut the guy just as he is about to have this talk with his girlfriend!'


	5. Chapter 5

'Kaffas, man, I can manage on my own!' Alexius snaps at the Chargers' healer.  
  
The man just keeps trying and trying to poke around the throbbing red tear in the magister's flesh, left behind after the splinter was pulled out. Alexius counters all his attempts, scowling and gripping furiously at the crumpled-up snatch of cloth that his younger countryman procured for him to dress the wound (hopefully, it is not a piece of The Iron Bull's dirty bedsheet).   
  
The wound is not as deep as it might have been, and no vital organs seem to have been grazed by the jagged wood. All that remains is to quell the bleeding - which Alexius fully intends to do by relying on his own healing magic. He really has no intention of dallying too long in the back yard by the inn (they have been ushered outside by the bar keep, after the cluttered debris and the splashes of blood began to make people at every table turn their heads and stare). Especially given that he has had to strip to the waist to let Stitches examine him - and since his awkward conversation with Clemence the Tranquil, he does not feel any more comfortable about flashing his naked body in public view, even in such a remote corner of the courtyard.  He would much rather dive back into his robe and make his way to any place that is not here. And anything this blathering busybody purports to do will only slow down his progress.  
  
'You almost had a heart attack back there!' young Krem points out, taking the healer's side. 'Not to mention this huge wound you have! Let Stitches take care of you! He may not be a fancy magister, but he knows his stuff!'  
  
'My wound is not huge, and I did not have a heart attack,' Alexius says in exasperation, eluding Stitches as nimbly as he can, what with his robes pulled down and getting in his way (and with that slightly groggy feeling still present, even after they stepped into fresh air).   
  
'What you witnessed was merely a side effect of a magical experiment that... did not go exactly according to plan. Again'.  
  
'Well, if your magic stuff does not turn out the way you want, all the more reason to entrust this to someone else!' Stitches points out.  
  
'That is not what I meant,' Alexius says through his teeth. 'Observe!'  
  
Huffing in indignation, he begins to cast a healing spell on himself, the air around him filling with a multitude of floating blue and white sparks. As they whirl on the spot, going faster and faster, the oozing gash underneath the soggy, reddened cloth slowly shrinks in size. Alexius smirks - now, that was definitely more efficient than rubbing in all those poultices, was it not? - and begins to pull up his robe. He does not have time to bid the two Chargers goodbye, however (or to thank them - as they did do him a valued service, helping him get out of the inn when he was still unable to properly feel the floor beneath his feet). Before he can as much as open his mouth, the secluded silence of the back yard is broken by an exceedingly angry (and heavily armed) intruder.   
  
'You faithless Tevinter snake!' Seeker Pentaghast's voice stuns him like the crack of a whip, while the edge of her blade flashes inches away from his throat. 'So this is where you are hiding! I did not even have to look too far to find you! Your attempt to escape the Inquisition has failed; you will be brought to justice for your crime! If, Maker forbid, your victims do not survive, I will gladly kill you myself!'  
  
The magister draws a weary sigh.  
  
'Just as I have suspected. Whatever goes amiss, I am the one to blame. The mark of the Elder One follows me around like a curse - and sadly, I no longer have Dorian's youthful charm that would help me sway people in my favour'.  
  
'Do not try to tell me that you had nothing to do with what happened in the Undercroft!' the Seeker hisses, looming over him menacingly. The magister begins to back away instinctively, until his back hits a wall; his wrathful assailant does not leave him be, and when her quarry gets trapped with no more space for retreat, she presses her sword against the bared flesh underneath his chin, squeezing out a tiny ruby droplet, which rolls along the blade's tip like ink dripping from a quill. And it does not look like the story to be transcribed is going to have a particularly happy ending.  
  
'I will see through your lies,' the Seeker spits furiously. 'Even though the Inquisitor does not!'  
  
Krem and Stitches exchange an alarmed look. They must be facing quite a dilemma: disclosing the truth about their leader's unfortunate habit of poisoning his own sweetmeats, and leaving them in accessible places, might well lead to him being shredded by the Seeker's sword, just like Alexius is about to be shredded now. Presently, however, they seem to decide to speak up.  
  
'Uh, Seeker...' the young Tevinter intervenes with a cautious cough. 'This is not quite what you think it is...'  
  
'He is right, Cassandra!' a breathless voice calls out urgently. 'Gereon is innocent, just like I thought he was!'  
  
Cassandra glances over her shoulder, still keeping Alexius pinned against the stone - and soon spots Lavellan, who is racing towards them, arms raised into the air.  
  
'It was all one huge accident! Sera and Dagna were having a snack next to a source of harmful fumes, and got poisoned by the toxin that got into their food!' the Inquisitor explains (making both Krem and Stitches let out a covert sigh of relief).  
  
'And Gereon was not there because he'd teleported to get help!'  
  
'Ruining the experimental device in the process,' Alexius mutters.  
  
'That's okay!' Lavellan says brightly. 'The very fact that you whizzed to the tavern proves that the experiment worked! And knowing Dagna, she will be happy to start working on a new platform, as soon as she gets better! And she will get better! Because the poison was not enough to kill her, or Sera!'  
  
'Just enough to make us puke like crazy,' a voice grumbles from behind.  
  
Cassandra whirls around, finally releasing Alexius from her grip, and faces the approaching Bull, who is cradling Sera and Dagna in his arms, with Vivienne striding close in his wake, looking as if she has just had to wade through a sea of stagnant refuse.  
  
The magister slides down the wall, panting and fingering the scratch on his neck, which is soon wiped off his skin by his healing magic, just like the deeper wound was. Both Krem and Stitches make a move in his direction, apparently intending to support him - but Lavellan is at his side faster than either of them. And unlike the two men, she does not get pushed away... Not immediately, anyway. For a fleeting moment, as Cassandra looks away from the revived elf and dwarf (who seem rather pale and drained, but otherwise unscathed), she catches a glimpse of Alexius' face. Just before he declares abruptly that he can get up without Lavellan's help, the Seeker sees the magister give his elven friend a smile, which gives his face an entirely new, softer look, his expression filled with a warmth she would never have expected from the likes of him. Cassandra's eyes widen, understanding seeming to dawn on her; she makes a stifled choking noise, but before she can turn it into a full-fledged outcry of astonishment, Vivienne speaks up first.  
  
'Bull, my dear, we really must not dally,' she says, motioning to the mercenary to follow her inside the inn.  
  
Cassandra goes off after Vivienne and Bull, to make sure that the two patients are carried upstairs safely (and perhaps to distract herself from the staggering discovery that her Inquisitor has most likely become ensnared by a former Tevinter magister). Lavellan follows suit; her ears are burning slightly, as, with all the excitement having settled down, her mind finally begins to process what Bull let slip back in the Undercroft.   
  
Cassandra was such a sweetheart, she tells herself. She gave her such wonderful advice. But unfortunately, their little talk appears to have been completely pointless. Gereon already has someone special in his life - someone who is, most likely, a fellow mage (after all, he has barely interacted with anyone except for herself and the Inquisition's allies from Redcliffe). Someone mature and experienced; someone who does not have to flail around in desperation, trying to figure out if her feelings towards him are natural. Someone other than her...  
  
Creators, she isn't feeling bitter, is she? That would be wrong - and not the least bit friendly! She should be happy for Gereon - gods willing, this woman he's met will make him forget his sorrow over losing his wife. Lavellan begins wondering vaguely who exactly this might be - but quickly stops herself. That would be wrong as well; she shouldn't pry into Gereon's private life unless he chooses to confide in her, like he's done before. And if she does learn this woman's identity, all she can do is make sure that their relationship with Gereon keeps blossoming - bring them closer together, like she's been trying to do with Varric and Cassandra (the poor clueless darlings). And that is all there is. All there ever be.  
  
While both Cassandra and Lavellan struggle with their distracting thoughts, Vivienne keeps giving out instructions.  
  
'The Arcanist and her... paramour require bed rest to recuperate,' she explains, making way for Bull a few paces away from Sera's dainty little lair (apparently, she does not wish to approach those heaps of pink pillows and chests of assorted loot closer than absolutely necessary).  
  
'And meditate on their foolishness, which could have cost them their lives. Sera's loss, of course, would not have hindered our cause much - but Dagna's contribution to the Inquisition is most invaluable. It was reckless of you to ignore basic safety principles at your own work station, my dear. As you recover, you will have plenty of time to consider your behaviour'.  
  
Bull helps the two convalescents get inside the room; Dagna giggles sheepishly at Vivienne's scolding words, while Sera blows a weak but defiant raspberry.  
  
'Bed rest sounds boring as shite,' she grouses, settling among the pillows and pulling Dagna closer to her in a cuddle. 'My guts are all wobbly, so it's not like we're gonna be eating anything. What are we supposed to do, read one of Cassie's books?'  
  
'We could keep you company,' Lavellan suggests eagerly, doing her utmost to focus her attention back on the here and now. 'Play that new card game Varric got for you. That report from the Western Approach won't be coming in for quite some time, so we are all gonna have to stay put in Skyhold anyway'.  
  
'First, we are going to discuss your paperwork, Inquisitor,' Cassandra says suddenly, jerking her head towards the tavern exit.  
  
Realizing that the Seeker wants to talk to her in private, Lavellan prepares to leave - and makes one final remark to Bull,  
  
'Round everyone up! Varric, Blackwall, anyone who wants to come! We'll make it kind of like a Get Well Soon party, only without food... cuz, you know...'  
  
'That sounds like fun!' Dagna beams. 'Tell Serah Alexius to drop by, too; he looks like a sort who could use a party or three'.  
  
Hearing the magister's name, Cassandra motions Lavellan to leave the room rather more aggressively. The elf obeys; and once they are out of earshot, their voices drowned out by the sound of Maryden's music, the Seeker mouths dramatically,  
  
'Him?! That man you told me about - it was him, wasn't it?! The magister?! I saw the way he smiled at you - it matched your... enamored description!'  
  
Lavellan is smothered by a deep crimson blush.  
  
'Do you... Do you disapprove?' she asks faintly.  
  
'I don't know!' Cassandra blurts out frankly. 'I don't know! Half an hour ago, I would have wanted to slap you into your senses - but now I am beginning to… consider the notion that the man is not a spawn of evil, after all. I... I got far too out of hand with him. I allowed myself to say all sorts of regrettable things - I even drew blood when I accosted him. Just like when I first confronted you back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I let prejudice cloud my judgement, and I will have to apologize to Alexius personally for that... bizarre as the scene may appear to an outsider. But as for your feelings, I...'  
  
'It's so lovely that you want to apologize,' Lavellan says, with a rather weak smile. 'I got a little scared when I saw you waving your sword around. My feelings, though...'  
  
She sighs.  
  
'Turns out they don't matter. Bull hinted to me that Gereon is already seeing someone'.


	6. Chapter 6

'So...' Sera squints at the cards in her hands, chewing absently at a loose strand of her unevenly cut hair. 'Let's see what you guys got for me...'  
  
Dagna, who is still reclining against the pillows by the elf's side, attempts to push her short, stout body into a position that would allow her to take a peek at Sera's cards, giggling in anticipation. Sera notices the dwarf's fidgeting, however, and turns to face in another direction, sticking her tongue out playfully.  
  
'Oooh, here's a good one!' she declares after a while, selecting two cards to match the one she's been holding separately from all the others, pressed tightly between her ring finger and her pinkie. 'Ahem! "I worked very hard all my life to ... rule the world... but then got distracted by... frilly codpieces with ribbons!"  
  
Cassandra casts down her eyes, her cheeks flaming.  
  
'A lot of these cards are rather... inappropriate, aren't they?' she mutters.  
  
Varric, who is sitting on the floor at her feet (Sera's room not being large enough to accommodate everyone who has come to help the convalescents pass the time), looks up and snorts with laughter.  
  
'The game is called "Cards Against The Chantry" for a reason, Seeker'.  
  
'One would think a title like that would scare you off,' Dorian says. He has also found a place for himself on the floor, making himself comfortable with the pillows he has borrowed from Sera and resting his upper torso languidly against the thigh of the Iron Bull, who is perched on the edge of a loot chest.  
  
'I was talked into this,' Cassandra says darkly, glaring at Lavellan - but the Inquisitor is too busy snickering to take notice.  
  
'Hah! That card match-up sounds like a certain crazy darkspawn we all know!' Blackwall grins.  
  
This makes Sera let out a long, squeal-like laugh; it can't be too good for her recovering stomach, but she doesn't seem to care.  
  
'Coryphy-moose, with ribbons on his little... antler!' she chokes gleefully, beginning to hiccup (Dagna promptly comes to the rescue and gives her a pat on the back).  
  
'This one deserves a point! A big, fat point for all the laughs! Whose was that?'  
  
A figure pressed into a shadowy corner, next to Bull and Dorian, raises its hand cautiously.  
  
'That would be me'.  
  
Everyone turns their heads to take a look at who has spoken. It is Alexius, tense and a little bit lost; Bull dragged him in on Dagna's insistence, and he has been spending most of the game imitating a rather awkward-looking interior ornament. Many of those gathered to cheer up Sera and Dagna (except, perhaps, for that easy-going beardless dwarf, Varric) have been just as wary of him as he of them - though it needs to be mentioned that Cassandra did apologize to him before the elven patient had started dealing out the cards.  
  
Just as the Seeker had predicted, their little exchange must have looked quite outlandish to any onlookers: the former fearsome Venatori cultist, standing face to face with the woman who had helped bring him to justice, watching her search carefully for the right words, an intent frown clouding her face. In the end, seeing that Cassandra was definitely more at home on the battle field rather than in the midst of a formal conversation, Alexius spared her from further mental strain by extending his hand for a handshake and saying courteously,  
  
'I shall not begrudge you doing your duty, Seeker. That would be petty and shortsighted of me. I may throw in an occasional salty remark, but I understand your motivations. My status in the Inquisition is dubious at best, and you are one of your cause's staunchest protectors'.  
  
After he finished speaking, Cassandra scrutinized him for so long that he half-suspected she would not accept his diplomatic gesture. Eventually, the Seeker did end up shaking his hand, but the look on her face suggested that there was something else she would have liked to say to him, but never did. She still gives him that look, every now and again, in between the rounds of this (rather crude) card game. This contributes to Alexius' general uneasiness - along with the nagging thought that he has some unfinished research notes lying woefully abandoned in his quarters. After the fiasco with the teleportation platform, he will have to be doubly diligent if he is to live up to Yavanna's trust in him.  
  
And now that he has miraculously managed to amuse Sera, this wild child, who seems to be positively relishing the entertainment, his duty here is done. By making Sera laugh, he has, by extension, brought a little joy to the Arcanist, who was gracious enough to invite him to this little gathering (such as it is). Now, there really is nothing that could keep him in this stuffy little pink room... Except, perhaps, shooting furtive glances at Yavanna every time she smiles at those ludicrous dirty jokes in the cards - and feeling that pleasant little pang somewhere in his chest whenever she turns her head in his direction. But all indulgences have their limits - that, incidentally, was the very first lesson he tried to cram into Dorian's head when they had just met.  
  
'Well whadda you know!' Sera says, tilting her head towards her shoulder. 'You are not a stuffy old fart, after all! And everybody says you didn't try to shank Widdle! If you keep it up like that, you might get on my good side!'  
  
'How thrilling,' Alexius responds monotonously.  
  
Having said that, he squeezes out of his little corner and gives the merry little company a polite bow of farewell.  
  
'Now if you'll excuse me; I would loathe to outstay my welcome here'.  
  
'See you around, Time Lord!' Varric says genially. 'For one of our nemeses, you seem like a surprisingly all-right sort of fellow'.  
  
'Beware, Gereon,' Dorian chuckles. 'This means he has already found a place for you in one of his books. Next thing you know, he'll be accosting you in dark passageways and asking whether you were cackling manically as you lured us all to Redcliffe'.  
  
'You wound me, Sparkler!' Varric exclaims in mock dismay. 'Besides, it looks like your old buddy is outgrowing his manic cackling phase. Character development and all'.  
  
Alexius acknowledges this faith in him with a small smirk, and then withdraws from the room, followed by a burst of hearty laughter as Sera reads out the combination of the next two cards. He is halfway downstairs when he hears the wooden floor creak under someone's hurried footsteps, tailing him closely. Turning his head, he sees Lavellan, who has apparently rushed out after him.  
  
'Gereon, wait!' she calls out. 'I have something to show you!'  
  
With that, she feels around the inner side of her jacket and pulls out a carefully folded piece of paper.  
  
'Got this from Leliana before we all gathered for the game,' she explains, handing the paper to Alexius. 'I wanted to give this to you earlier, but you were busy talking to Cassandra... And then people started arriving and, well, I got distracted'.  
  
'A missive from your Spymaster?' Alexius says, raising his eyebrows. 'I had better find a quiet place so I can give this my full attention'.  
  
'You can go to Cole's corner,' Lavellan suggests, pointing upwards. 'It's on the topmost floor of the inn, and people tend to avoid it, because so many of them are still afraid of the poor sweet spirit. Of course, you can never tell if Cole is there or not, but he won't disturb you if you don't want him to'.  
  
Following her lead, Alexius climbs the two flights of wooden stairs and finds himself in a quiet, secluded spot just underneath the building's roof. Seeking out a place where a ray of light streams into the room, he unfolds Leliana's message and, to his own astonishment, reads the following,

  
  
**_NOTICE_**  
  
**_In light of the news about the erroneous interpretation of the Undercroft incident, delivered by Inquisitor Lavellan, the following conclusion has been reached:_**  
  
**_Gereon Alexius, former Magister of the Tevinter Imperium (hereinafter referred to as G. Alexius) is proving more trustworthy than the Inquisition advisors have surmised. The Undercroft incident has not, in fact, been his doing, as confirmed by several witnesses (furthermore, it has been brought to our attention that G. Alexius contributed to the rescue of the injured parties, at a personal health risk), which leaves the Inquisition advisors liable to make amends for hitherto denying G. Alexius credibility. Therefore, the security measures concerning G. Alexius have been mitigated as follows:_**  
  
**_G. Alexius is now allowed free movement within the boundaries of Skyhold Keep, without a personal security escort, provided that he interacts with Inquisitor Lavellan and other members of the Inquisition in public areas only._**  
  
**_G. Alexius is also allowed to leave Skyhold Keep, should the need arise, provided that he is accompanied by a trusted member of the Inquisition (e.g. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast or Commander Cullen Rutherford) at all times._**  
  
**_G. Alexius may continue to engage himself in any research (within reasonable limits; the use of Human, Elven, Dwarven, and Qunari test subjects is strictly prohibited) and in other activities benefitting the Inquisition that he chooses to contribute to of his own free will. These activities may include additional training for the Inquisition mages, provided that any such training is endorsed by a trusted member of the Inquisition (e.g. former Grand Enchanter Fiona or Imperial Enchanter Vivienne)._**  
  
**_Lastly, G. Alexius is hereby granted access to a small portion of his personal assets, which have been partially seized by the government of the Tevinter Imperium following his official condemnation, and then transferred to the Inquisition as a reward for curbing the Venatori activity in Ferelden. G. Alexius may use the amount released to him for any personal expenses, provided that he keeps a written record thereof and this record is approved by Ambassador Josephine Montilyet._**  
  
**_Should any of the conditions above be violated, G. Alexius shall be stripped of all his former privileges and placed under close supervision without a right to leave his quarters. Should, however, G. Alexius continually show that he is a reliable ally, he may be given further freedoms._**  
  
**_Signed:_**  
  
**_Spymaster Leliana_**

  
  
'She's really slipped into officialese there, hasn't she? I don't even quite understand some of the words she's using,' Lavellan says, peering over Alexius' shoulder to see which part of the text he has reached. ‘She treats her job so seriously it worries me sometimes!.. But even though it's too stuffy for my liking, this little letter still has its uses. You'd better carry it with you and wave it in the face of anyone who tries to turn you into a shackled prisoner again!'  
  
'I have been allowed to teach...' Alexius murmurs, his expression growing almost dreamy. 'I... I have only recently realized how much I missed teaching... When I was showing those youngsters how to use telekinesis properly... '  
  
'Don't forget the freedom of movement!' Lavellan points out gleefully. 'I really insisted on that one! It's the least I could do as a friend to make sure you can meet with your beloved at any time you want, without a scout always breathing down your neck!'  
  
Alexius starts, nearly crumpling the notice in his fist.  
  
'Meet with my what?' he asks blankly.  
  
Lavellan smiles at him; her voice quivers a little, but she strives to maintain a cheerful expression.  
  
'Bull mentioned you had someone special in your life again! That's great news - it would have been so sad if you spent the rest of your days grieving for your loss. I am sure your wife would have agreed too! I just hope your new love makes you happy - after all you've been through, you need as much happiness as you can get...'  
  
'She has already made me happy - even though I myself thought it impossible'.  
  
Alexius tucks the notice away under his robe's belt; he does so mechanically, his gaze fixed on Lavellan's clear, earnest blue eyes, which have widened in excited surprise after his last remark. With his hands freed from the paper sheet, he makes a hesitant gesture, as if wanting to cup Lavellan's face in his palm - but his trembling fingers do not touch her skin. He backs away, his chest rising and falling in a strained rhythm; then, he swallows, and speaks, having to pause now and again, overcome by what he can only describe as the flutter of countless butterflies in his stomach... Something he has not experienced in years.  
  
'The Iron Bull was both right and wrong on this account. I did... I did meet someone very, very special. She... forgive me for waxing poetic... She lit up a candle in the dark night that my life had turned into; she treated me with warmth and forgiveness that I did not expect, or deserve... And before I knew it, I found myself... needing her. More and more with every day. But I have not yet had a chance to tell her that I wanted to become closer to her, because I was too... startled, too disoriented by my feelings... since they are definitely not something I would have anticipated. I was afraid to look like someone who is... indulging in an unsavoury desire... and even more afraid that she would remind me that she and I used to be enemies - but your mercenary suggested that I... that I be direct and ask her what she thinks of... someone like me... someone with a...  dark history, and too many years behind me to count...  offering...'  
  
His voice trails off, and he looks down, too busy mentally flaying himself, for churning out all this feeble nonsense, to see that Lavellan is staring at him, flushed and slightly staggering, as the meaning behind his words slowly sinks in. The moment Alexius lifts his head again, she rushes towards him, draws him into an embrace (so abrupt that he barely manages to keep balance) - and presses her lips against his.  
  
Their touch, warm and soft and utterly unexpected, makes Alexius' blood quicken, as he dares to anticipate when he has secretly been longing for. But Lavellan keeps her mouth closed and draws away almost as swiftly and impulsively as she approached, staring down at her feet.  
  
'I... I hope I didn't... offend you... or anything...' she mumbles, looking flushed and sheepish. 'Thing is, I just... couldn't hold back... I've been wanting to do this for quite a while now'.  
  
She closes her eyes, as if bracing for a long, deep dive.  
  
'It's rather silly, but... I think I've had a bit of a crush on you since Redcliffe... Since the time when you were still that mysterious... villain from Tevinter... And then I got to know you, and... I realized that... I need you too, Gereon. Being around you - it... It gives me this content sort of feeling that I treasure with all my heart. The others would think I'm off my head, that it can't be real, since we were once enemies and all... But it's there, that feeling. And it's very, very real’.  
  
She draws a gasping sigh, opening her eyes again allowing Alexius to gently take her hands in his.  
  
'I... You did mean me just now, didn't... didn't you? Because it was so hard for me to even start hoping...'  
  
'Would you prefer it if I spelled out a confession in giant flaming letters underneath your window?' Alexius asks slyly, pulling slightly at Lavellan's hands to draw her back to him. 'I would gladly do so, even if that meant I'd risk invoking Leliana's wrath'.  
  
She glances up at him, her whole face lighting up with a smile.  
  
'I would have never figured you to be such a prankster, Gereon,' she chuckles, slipping one hand out of his grasp and placing it on his chest. Alexius, in turn, moves his free hand to Lavellan's waist, leaning so close to her that their heartbeat seems to align into a single rapid cadence.  
  
'One may allow oneself a little bit of foolishness with the burden of self-doubt finally lifted,' he whispers, before closing his eyes and returning the kiss Lavellan gave him.  
  
This time, their lips are parted, their breath merging just like the drumming of their hearts. Alexius hesitates before slipping his tongue into Lavellan's mouth - but only for a moment; and while he is bolstering his courage, she already manages to move her hand from his chest to the back of his head, her touch scorching his skin through his bristly hair. The sensation of her fingers travelling across his flesh sends an almost electrifying impulse through him, and he presses his mouth harder against hers, his tongue drinking her in with a kind of unabashed thirst that once terrified him in his nightmare about the brothel. But he is certain now that that dark, haunting dream will never come to pass. Lavellan has wanted this for as long as he did; they are not master and slave, customer and goods - they are two close friends that have yearned to become even closer. Because this is what makes them both happy. So very happy.  
  
With a moan of pleasure building up somewhere at the back of his throat, Alexius tears away from Lavellan's lips and moves on to her neck. Her grip on him tightens; then, she moves her hand back to his chest again, her fingers dancing daintily upwards till they reach the open collar of his robe. It will not be long before she figures out how to undo the fastenings: these Inquisition-issued robes are nowhere near as complex in design as his former Tevinter garments. Ooh, perhaps he should seek out that tailor fellow to see if he can pick up his little project where he abandoned it, distracted by the reunion with his son. A proper Tevinter robe would be a challenge for Lavellan - and she is a rogue, after all.  
  
'Rogues like challenges,' a disembodied voice agrees with Alexius. 'She is already wondering about the other places where she can bring you for a kiss. Secret sneaky sweetness; stolen moments of rapture right underneath Leliana's nose. I won't tell anyone - except by accident'.  
  
With a violent start, Lavellan and Alexius almost literally leap away from each other.    
  
'Cole!' forcing a very awkward laugh, Lavellan turns to address the spirit boy, who has just manifested himself in his usual corner. Creators - just for how long has he been here?  
  
'We... We didn't mean to... trespass so rudely! I only brought Gereon in here so he could read Leliana's letter without being disturbed!'  
  
'It's all right,' Cole reassures her. 'I like it when people forget about their hurt'.  
  
Alexius coughs.  
  
'Still, we should probably all get on with our daily duties. I have some pending research reports waiting for me'.  
  
'And I had better get back to the game before Cassandra decides to send out a search party,' Lavellan says. 'Oh, and Gereon - it would be a good idea to get some travelling clothes and things... Because I am taking you to explore the Western Approach with me! Cassandra will be travelling there as well, so that part of the rules won't be broken'.  
  
Alexius gives her a long, incredulous look, and she adds a cheerful explanation,  
  
'The official reason is that the Inquisitor believes you might have valuable insight into Venatori activity in the area. And the real reason is that I want us to have another shared adventure! And I want it so badly I can't even put it into words!'  
  
'Another kiss might replace the words,' Cole points out helpfully.


End file.
